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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25793500">been on a journey they can't see</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd'>brookethenerd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chosen Soulmate, Soul Bond, Soulmates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:22:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25793500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU in which a soulmate bond is unlocked when a relationship meets the requirements </p><p>aka Steve and the reader figure out something they've been moving toward for a long time</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Harrington/Reader, Steve Harrington/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>been on a journey they can't see</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>credit for the incredible concept to @with-a-little-bit-of-light on tumblr &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ceiling stops spinning sometime between throwing yourselves into the bathroom and flushing the last of the old popcorn and drugs down the toilet. With half the mall in the theaters, the bathroom stays unoccupied, untouched by those who would find the mess you and Steve Harrington are.</p><p>Your thoughts stop slipping through your fingers, and though your anxiety is still a rope tightening around your throat, you’ve made it past the direct danger, and though it surely isn’t over yet, you take the - likely short - reprieve.</p><p>“Do you think they’re real? Soulmates, and all that?” You ask eventually, breaking through the thick silence.</p><p>Steve is quiet for a long time, unseeable beyond the stalls' red metal divider, only the soft inhale and exhale indicating he's still there, tucked against the wall, just as bloody and bruised as you.</p><p>“Steve?” You ask.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he says. “I always figured it was just a…fairy tale.”</p><p>You purse your lips, drawing your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them, brows pulling together.</p><p>“Do you think Nancy could have been yours?”</p><p>“Clearly not,” he says, voice gruff. “She didn’t pick me, did she?” There is a tinge of sadness bleeding through the words, one Steve clearly tries to hide, but it pierces your skin and presses against your heart.</p><p>“Do you wish she was?”</p><p>Though for not as long, Steve goes quiet again and lets out a sigh before saying, "Not anymore." He clears his throat, and the linoleum squeaks as his shoe tracks across it. "What about you?"</p><p>You snort, shaking your head, and say, “It’s not like I’ve ever seen them. If they even exist, they’re rare as hell.”</p><p>“<em>Totally</em> not an answer,” Steve says. You roll your eyes, though he can’t see it, and a beat later, his sneakers peek through the space beneath the stalls, and he pulls himself under and up, pressing his back into the divider, his legs stretched out in front of him. He lets one foot loll to the side, the sneaker resting against your thigh.</p><p>“Fine,” you say. “I <em>want</em> to believe in them. But I can’t really imagine anyone getting close enough…getting <em>that</em> close to someone…”</p><p>“Yeah.” Steve lets out a breath, tipping his head back against the wall. His face is still swollen and bruised and bloody, his eyes bloodshot, and you’re reminded of the way he used to be, the young and gangly boy that climbed trees and tossed apples down for you. Then, the insecure teenager who hid behind his facade of false confidence. And now, the soldier in a sailor’s uniform who spends his days scooping ice cream and being interrogated by Russian soldiers.</p><p>“I mean, forever?” Steve asks. “Hell, I can’t even find someone who doesn’t get sick of me after a <em>year</em>." His lips turn down, hurt flashing in his eyes before he's able to hide it.</p><p>If it were any other moment, you might turn his words into a punchline, might tease him until he smiles again, but the events of the last few days have changed you - and Steve - more than you’d like to admit.</p><p>Something feels different, like a storm is edging over the horizon, like the birds are flying away and the animals are scurrying uphill, but you’re the only one who doesn’t see the wave coming. It’s a shift in the air, like the smell before it rains, something indecipherable.</p><p>“Look at me,” you say, voice harsh, and the command drags Steve gaze to yours, his brows furrowed. “Anybody would be <em>lucky</em> to have you as their soulmate. You’re brave, and you’re strong, and you’re funny, and you’re kind even if you pretend not to be sometimes, and you take care of people. Dustin. <em>Me</em>. Even Robin, though she’ll never admit it.” Your stomach twists, chest aching with something unfamiliar - or, maybe not unfamiliar, maybe just tucked deep inside you.</p><p>“I haven’t done shit,” he says, shaking his head, defensive. “I got you tortured today. Nearly got Robin and Dustin and Erica killed.”</p><p>“That was <em>not</em> you,” you snap. You hesitate, softening your tone. “I know there’s a lot of heroes around these parts, but you’re one of them, Steve Harrington. You always have been.”</p><p>His brows twitch, and for a split second, his expression is so open and vulnerable it actually aches, but he quickly zips his composure back up and cocks his brows.</p><p>“I am <em>not</em> a hero," he says. "And, you're biased." </p><p>“I’m <em>least</em> biased. I've known you since you were a scrawny ten-year-old," you say. "If anybody knows, it's me." </p><p>He scans your expression with parted lips, and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something, and though it makes no sense, part of you knows what it’s going to be. Like words stuck on the tip of your tongue, like a familiar voice through a closed door, you and Steve teeter on the edge of something you’ve been moving toward for years.</p><p>A thought - a realization - burns just out of reach, skittering across your skin and whispering words you can’t yet make out.</p><p>Whether or not Steve would have answered - whatever he would have said - is lost with the opening of the bathroom door and the entrance of a not-thrilled Dustin, Robin, and Erica.</p><p>With their arrival, the moment is broken, and the understanding you came so close to catching slips through your fingers and down the drain.</p>
<hr/><p>The question of whether or not to go back to the mall is answered the moment Steve runs for the car, and you realize, jogging after him and climbing into the passenger seat, that it was never a choice at all; if Steve was going, you were following, and vice versa.</p><p>"What's the plan?" You ask, gripping the dash as Steve peels through the town and turns into the mall's massive and empty parking lot.</p><p>“Plans are for amateurs,” Steve retorts, pushing harder on the gas.</p><p>“No,” you say, “they are <em>not</em>!” Your gaze slides to the lot, to the Wheeler’s station wagon and Nancy standing outside it with a gun aimed; across the lot, Billy Hargrove’s Camaro speeds directly toward them.</p><p>Steve flicks a glance in your direction, and fear flashes in his eyes for a millisecond as both of you come to understand the plan the universe sent you into. Maybe Steve had no intentions other than to help coming down the hill, but now that you’re here, it’s clear there is only one move to be made, and it may not be survivable.</p><p>He’s going to hit him.</p><p>“Steve,” you warn, panic rising in your voice.</p><p>“I know,” he says, “but we have to.”</p><p>He takes a deep breath and accelerates, and you can barely hear the screech of tires over the pounding of your heart. Without consideration, you reach out to take Steve’s free hand, threading your fingers together and squeezing tightly.</p><p>Time seems to slow, the seconds dragging into minutes and the car’s acceleration pausing, like the world pauses in its rotation. Steve’s hand in yours is calloused but steady, his grip firm, and when you look at him, his hair whips in the wind and his eyes are determined and narrowed.</p><p>He flashes a glance in your direction, and the seconds still, and there is only the hue of his eyes and the curve of his mouth and the overwhelming fear that this is the last moment you get to see them. It’s like pulling a truth from deep inside you, peeling off the muck and dirt, scraping away the dust to reveal what has always been right there.</p><p>Or, maybe it wasn’t always there; maybe you made it. The two of you, like sculptors unaware that they’re molding clay, forming a path that brings you to the other.</p><p>It may be a choice, or it may be an inevitability, but that truth is irrelevant. All that matters is that it <em>is</em>, and that you’re twenty seconds away from losing it.</p><p>Steve feels the same, thinks the same, and though you're not sure how you know that, you're certain you do.</p><p>Even the seconds’ crawling isn’t enough time, and Steve’s car slams into Billy’s, sending both vehicles careening away, spinning out. Steve keeps his hand in yours, squeezing tightly, and the sensation kicks through the last of the reservations you hadn’t realized you possessed.</p><p>The bond yawns open inside you like the snapping of a rubber band against your wrist and the awareness the shock brings. Your vision flashes, switching between Steve's tight, pained expression and, somehow, impossibly, your own. Like looking through someone else's eyes - Steve's eyes - or like stepping into their skin, your emotions twist and jostle as his find purchase in your mind.</p><p>Steve's feelings are different. They are tinged blue and black and purple, sharp and loud, blending with your quiet fear's red and orange undertones. You're not experiencing your emotions, not completely, but rather a mix of yours <em>and</em> Steve’s.</p><p>It isn't just feelings, either, but images, memories, even the cool air that hits his skin and the tickle of hair on his neck. It's like standing behind him, watching through his eyes, and walking on his legs.</p><p>And yet, somehow, it doesn't feel like losing yourself; it feels like gaining something. It is a safety blanket - a reassurance - tucked around your shoulders as the car slams to a halt, and the air struggles to find its way back into your lungs. It is knowing that Steve is okay without having to turn and look, instead leaning into the dark colors brushing at the edge of your mind and finding security in their presence.</p><p>Steve lets out a shaky breath, turning to look at you, his hair sticking up in all directions, and the blood on his face shining black in the neon lights. His brows furrow, confusion dotting his features, and his gaze flicks around your face, like he's looking for an answer in your expression, but you're just as lost as he is, still taut with adrenaline and the impact of the car.</p><p>“What the hell,” Steve huffs, “was that?”</p><p>“I…I have no idea,” you say. He opens his mouth to speak again, but the creaking of metal atop the mall catches both your attention, and you both push up, gripping the top of the windshield.</p><p>The Mind Flayer, dripping blood and gore, thunders down the side of the mall, letting out a roar that shoots ice into your bones.</p><p>Steve’s fear - it has to be his, though you don’t know why or how - brims inside you, weaving itself through yours like vines, and you meet his gaze, the understanding unspoken. <em>Run</em>.</p><p>You throw yourself out of the car, and Steve bolts around to join you, taking your hand, joining the others in their mad dash into the mall and away from Billy and the Mind Flayer.</p><p>Jonathan and Nancy slow just long enough to quickly jam the crowbar from the car through the doors, and though it likely won’t slow Billy or the monster down, it still manages to be comforting.</p><p>Lucas and Will pass out firecrackers, and the group splits off to all corners of the mall, and the fight begins. For a long time, it feels like it might never stop.</p><p>You and Steve have the advantage of years of familiarity to begin with, and many have joked you can read the other’s mind, but never before had that rung true until now. It is unspoken, voiceless, the knowledge that the other needs a light or a new firework before they voice it. It is Steve pulling you back when you lean too far, an action he wouldn’t have been capable of if he hadn’t somehow known it was coming. It is your hands shoving him aside as stray debris careens toward him, instinctual and automatic.</p><p>It isn’t mind reading, but it is damn close.</p><p>And then, with a scream and a final explosion, the floor cracks beneath the weight of the dead Mind Flayer, and only Max’s cries can be heard through the settling smoke and dust.</p><p>With the monsters gone, though, your priority is not on the food court floor, but standing right beside you. Similarly, Steve immediately turns to you that same confused look from the car tugging on his features.</p><p>Just before he speaks, his gaze falls to your hand, to your out turned palm - his attention brings the skin’s itchiness to yours - and the part to his lips widens. He shakes his head and reaches for your hand, lifting it and flipping it.</p><p>The lines on your palm have shifted. Rather than crawling across your skin naturally, splitting off like rivers, they have curved and curled into a distinctive shape; a letter.</p><p>The letter S, pressed into your palm like it has always lived there.</p><p>You use your free hand to twist Steve’s, pulling his fingers away from yours and turning his wrist. Fear and shock and hope coil inside your gut at the sight of his skin.</p><p>The first letter of your name, pressed into his palm like <em>it</em> has always lived there.</p><p>“I think we answered your question,” Steve breathes, gaze lingering on both your upturned palms. He presses his lips together for a beat, lifting his eyes to yours. “About soulmates.”</p><p>“That’s not possible,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s no such thing. It’s a fairytale.”</p><p>“Turns out, not so much,” he says. He lets out a breath. “You…what did…”</p><p>Despite his struggle for the words, you know where he’s going, can bridge the gaps he’s leaving; somehow, unexplainably.</p><p>“Yeah. I guess I picked you.” You chew on the inside of your cheek, heart hammering in your chest, the gravity of the situation settling like bricks on your chest. Surprisingly, the weight isn’t necessarily painful, but comfortable, if not still terrifying. “And you picked me.”</p><p>He hesitates before asking, “Why? Why me?”</p><p>“I could ask you the same thing.”</p><p>He snorts. “Well, I’ve been in love with you since we were <em>ten</em>, so-” He stops, mouth snapping shut. His cheeks flush pink, and a smile tugs on your lips.</p><p>“You <em>do</em> realize what this means, right?" You ask. "I…" The knot in your belly tightens, but you push past the fear; there really isn't a reason for it anymore. "I love you, too. I think I always have, and I just…didn't realize it until you almost killed me."</p><p>“Which time?” He quips, one side of his mouth curling up. You laugh, joy blooming in your chest, Steve’s happiness dancing with yours.</p><p>"Sometime between the first Demogorgon," you say, "and ramming your car into the Camaro."</p><p>“<em>Todd’s</em> car," Steve amends. You roll your eyes, and he reaches out a hand, fingers settling on your cheek. A tiny, soft smile pulls on his lips, and the blues and purples edging inside your brain turn to lilacs and baby blues. </p><p>“You’re…sure about this?”</p><p>“I mean, I think it’s pretty clear,” you say, smiling, nodding at your hands, “but yeah. If there’s anything I’m sure about, it’s you.”</p><p>His brows twitch, and he doesn't need to speak for you to understand, feel it; to feel the wave build just beyond the shore, and warm beneath the embers flickering to life.</p><p>He leans forward and kisses you gently, just once, like a question. Your heart pounds like a kick drum, anticipation and fear fighting for dominance, but you shove the concerns away, pressing your lips to his again, handing over an answer. He dissolves against you, hands finding your waist and lips parting beneath yours.</p><p>Your fingers find the curls at the nape of his neck and twist, and his heartbeat is quick and fast, like it’s trying to break out of his chest; your heart is doing the same.</p><p>The blue and purple of Steve Harrington turn bright, like the fireworks that went after the mind flayer - the creature is a reminder that this is neither the time nor place, but neither of you seems to care.</p><p>When he pulls back, both your colors are pastel, and you feel a little drunk, like Steve is some kind of drug; maybe he is; maybe you don’t care; maybe you really, really like it. Love it, even.</p><p>“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he says softly.</p><p>Warmth blooms in your chest and you settle a hand on his cheek, stretching up to kiss him once more, quickly, gently.</p><p>“Hey, lovebirds,” a voice says, breaking through your fog, dragging your focus away from Steve. You jump apart to find Nancy standing a few feet away with cocked brows and a tiny, knowing smile on her lips. “The police are here. You should <em>both</em> go see the EMT’s.”</p><p>It should be weird, being caught by Steve’s ex girlfriend, but all the doubt is gone, replaced by the security of the letter on your hand. Nancy has Jonathan, and you have Steve, and finally, the pieces have fallen into their places.</p><p>“Thanks,” Steve says. Nancy nods, her smile widening a bit before she turns and heads back down the stairs.</p><p>The food court is littered with debris, the Mind Flayer limp in the center, Billy Hargrove’s body off to the side. The kids stand in a clump, all close and wrapped in each other’s arms, El and Max in the middle. Nancy and Jonathan urge them outside, away from the death and the destruction, and after a moment, you and Steve follow.</p><p>Hawkins' brokenness is not fixed when you walk out the doors, and you both know better than to believe the war is over, but there is comfort in the knowledge that you're not alone, that you will never be alone.</p><p>With the letter on your hand and Steve’s soul bound to yours - by choice, through commitment and time - you will never face your demons alone again.</p><p> </p>
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